This Is Home

I can't really pinpoint the exact time or day that I lost myself to depression. When people describe falling in love, they always say it started slowly then all at once. That's kind of how it felt. It started with a small feeling like a little off or a little more down than usual, then all of a sudden I was crying a lot more than I used to. This awful kind of cry too. Not the type of cry where you feel relieved after, but the kind of cry that feels like your whole body is screaming. In fact, during these big cries, I couldn't control my tears at all anymore. I remember feeling them pouring out of my face, burning and swelling in my eyes, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. People would look at me and ask why I was crying or why I was so sensitive now all of a sudden and I didn't have an answer. The apologies would flow out of me just like the tears did. I'm sorry I don't know why I'm crying. I'm sorry I'm no fun to be around anymore. I'm sorry you have to deal with me. I'm sorry I am such a burden.

Depression has a way of taking hold of you. It grabs on tight and at first, you are wary and confused at these new feelings. But soon after, you start to get comfortable. You start to let depression in with open arms. So what if you stay in bed all day? So what if you sleep in a little longer than usual? We all need a break, right? While you are distracted thinking of yourself and your all-consuming self-pity and sadness, depression starts to settle in. It starts laying some foundations down, moving in, establishing it's place in your mind. It keeps taking up space, keeps dragging you down deeper and deeper. One day you wake up and there is no room for the good parts anymore. Depression has its' dirty socks and underwear and old takeout boxes and empty bottles scattered all over your subconscious. Depression has made your mind its' home. Your home is now your depression.

Now, when we think of words to describe our home or feeling at home, they are typically pretty positive. People usually use words like comfortable, familiar, etc. People do not usually associate these words with depression. It's funny how quickly they become accurate descriptions of mental illness. I think one of the worst parts of depression is how much of yourself you lose to it. Your personality starts morphing into its symptoms. Instead of being able to make friends easily, you become more quiet and reserved. Instead of being confident, you become insecure and anxious. Maybe you used to be the kind of person who cared about school and now you are the one who is struggling to keep up. You start to change and you accept it because depression has infected your brain and tainted your thoughts with darkness. Quickly and unknowingly, you start to feel comfortable with being withdrawn from the world. Depression takes on this facade of coziness, familarity, and warmth. You can't see through the smoke screens anymore. You look in the mirror eventually and you realize you don't know who you are without it.

Kurt Cobain once put an indescribable feeling into words with the lyric "I miss the comfort of being sad". When trying to release oneself from the hold of depression, it is normal to experience a feeling similar to this one. For me, I made a home out of my dark place. I was unable to leave it for a long time and if I am being honest with myself I didn't want to. I had found comfort in my depression, in my sadness. I liked being the sad girl and I liked feeling everyone's pity. It was like fuel to my fire. The pity allowed me to convince myself I was depressed for good reason like it was okay to just give in and accept it. I was romanticizing the whole thing, almost pretending I was a character. Some beautiful but mentally disturbed young girl like in the movies, a real-life Penny Lane. I had fooled myself into thinking that my mental illness made me more complex, more interesting, and more desirable. Following this train of thought, it felt easier to accept defeat and make do with what I had been left with than to try and heal. Sometimes I would start to feel better and I would try to embrace joy, but there would always be this nagging at me in the back of my mind. My depression calling at me, taunting me saying: don't you like it here? You won't make it out in the real world. You'll just end up crawling back to me anyway. You are nothing without me. Come home.

Just like in real life, it can be really hard to leave home and push yourself out of your comfort zone. But, just like in real life, you can't stay home. You have to go to college. You have to get on that plane. You have to take that job. You have to move out. You have to make new homes in new places. You have to get uncomfortable. If you don't try to fly out of here and leave home, you could be trapped in your dark place forever.

I am not claiming to have cracked the code and I can't tell you how to get rid of your sadness indefinitely. I still have days where I miss the comfort of being sad and I can hear the whispers of depression nagging at me once again. The difference is now I have found my home in different places. It sounds weird to say, but I found my home in the small joys of life. My home is family movie nights and chipotle burritos and New Girl reruns. My home is long talks in the car and sharing clothes with my friends. If you want my advice, the only true cure to depression I have discovered in my twenty-two years of life is finding happiness in the littlest of things. No matter how stupid or insignificant. The little things will save your life. Getting a coffee from your favorite place or receiving a compliment from a stranger or watching your favorite show, without these little things, these little moments of love, why would life even be worth living?

This quote by Elizabeth Wurtzel says it best and it is what I shall leave you all with.

"It's funny, but when I was little, before I'd go to sleep my mom would do this routine with me where she'd tell me to think of pretty things. I would close my eyes and she would run her fingers over my cheeks and across my brow. And we'd go through this list. I think it was a way of preventing nightmares — and it would always be, you know, pussycats and puppy dogs and balloons at the zoo. Sometimes she'd mention yellow submarines, stars in the sky, blackbirds flying overhead, trees in Central Park, and even — believe it or not — that on Saturday I would get to see Daddy. Nothing that extraordinary, but when you're four years old, it's cats and dogs that make life worth living. And I kind of think it's maybe not so different now.”